Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Confounded

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Turmoil Theory

If the flutter of a butterfly's wings can create a cataclysmic chain of events thousands of miles away, then why do some efforts seem so futile? Why is it that one can feel so powerless, too ineffectual to stem the tide of change?

Monday, May 01, 2006

Strangely Quiet

It was a strange dream.

I was travelling alone on a bus, like a Greyhound coach. It was late, way past midnight. Other than an occasional murmur, my fellow passengers were quiet. Through the rain-speckled bus window, I could see the shuttered shopfronts of what looked like the centre of a small town. The bus wound its way through the silent streets before finally pulling up outside a darkened office in a narrow lane.

Silently, everyone disembarked, and within minutes, had scattered in various directions. I grabbed my duffle bag from the coach’s belly and trudged down the lane towards the main road. There was a light drizzle. The tarmac was glistening in the light from the streetlamps. At the end of the lane, there was a police cordon. The policeman on duty waved me past, uninterested.

It was as if I had arrived in an unfamiliar town and was at a loose end. I saw a group of four people who had been on the bus. Judging from the muted chatter and soft laughter, the four, three men and one woman, seemed to be friends. I trailed them to a late-night pub, and walked in behind them.

At this point, the dream morphed. I was no longer in the dream myself. I felt like I was watching a movie. I felt like a voyeur. The group stayed in the pub for an hour or so, before two of the men got up from their bar stools and left. The remaining man and woman who appeared to be a couple remained seated. They were deep in conversation, although it was mostly the woman who did the talking. She appeared to ask him a series of questions, in urgent whispers. He kept quiet, until, finally, she lapsed into silence too. Pause. In tacit agreement, the two got up and walked out the door, leaving their drinks sitting half-drunk on the bar counter.

Outside the pub, the couple acted out a mini-drama. She tried to leave, in tears. He threw his cigarette on the ground and grabbed her arm. They scuffled for a moment, before he let her go. He watched her receding back for a while, before turning to go too.

Fast forward. Change perspective. I am reading the newspapers. A report catches my eye - suicide bombing at a late-night party, hosted in some posh downtown residence. The perpetrator was a man. The twist in the story? A woman had rushed into the party, seconds before the explosives went off. The woman was his wife.

Clean Cut (Not)

Sunday, April 02, 2006

Mental Gymnastics for Intellectual Sluts

Years ago I read a short story – I believe it was by Woody Allen – that described an escort service with a twist. The business provided for hire, not nubile young females for mindless sex, but women with post-graduate degrees from Vassar and Radcliffe for cerebrally stimulating conversations. What a mind-blowing idea! It sure gives new meaning to that old chestnut of a phrase, “My wife doesn’t understand me”, eh? Today, I imagine such intellectual infidelities are facilitated, like pornography, wife-swapping and casual sex, by the proliferation of the Internet and its multiple communication channels, and why not? Why should the Internet privilege one set of proclivities over another? :)

Take any one idea,Mere fodder forThe intellectual mill.Twist and turn,Watch it squirm.Tease it out ad infinitum.Pinion down for the kill,Nail it at the climax.

Good Teachers

A good teacher is not one who was born a saint.What does one who is perfect understand aboutThe temptations of the flesh,The tumultuousness of the soul,The weaknesses of the mind?

A good teacher is not one who has never made any mistakes.What does one who succeeds all the time understand aboutThe humiliation of failure,The agony of defeat,The bleakness of a life gone wrong?

A good teacher is not one who has never experiencedLife in all its vicious vicissitude,The helplessness of being disempowered,The anger of being marginalized,The vulnerability of being exposed.

Even one who has struggled and overcome is notA good teacher yet,Not without being able to say,With equanimity,“It doesn’t mean I’m better than you.”

The more I read, the more I understand.The more I teach, the more I learn.The more I live, the more I grow.

A good teacher is one whoCan see in all clarity,Can say in all humility,Can share in all sincerity,This is who I was,Who I still am.

I have been an idiot, sometimes.I have been a fool, often.I have been impetuous, unthinking, selfish,Careless, partisan, opinionated,Silly, proud, lazy,Just like you.I am, but I am learning.Together, we grow.

Monday, March 27, 2006

To the Self Righteous

When I was 19, my friends and I went on a backpacking tour of Europe. In Florence, Italy, we met a group of American girls at our youth hostel. They hated everything about Europe, particularly the weather. We were puzzled. It was late April (or early May, I can’t quite remember). Temperatures ranged from 12 to 18 degrees in the day. It was cold for us, yes, but then we were used to tropical weather. Perhaps these girls were from Hawaii or some tropical part of the good ol’ US of A. Then we noticed that, to a T, they all wore skimpy tank tops and shorts, all the time. Surely that was not appropriate attire for Europe in spring? Little wonder they were cold. We had to ask. They whined, “But it was 100 degrees (Fahrenheit, or 38 degree Celsius) back home in Indianapolis…” Duh.

Moral of the story:

If you live life as if yours is the only perspective that matters, as if your reality is the only truth, then you are destined to make a fool of yourself sometime, somewhere, somehow.

Brain Pain

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Food for Thought

It's amazing what one can come up with in the middle of the night, when insomnia strikes. Thanks, wzb, for the push.

Intention or action –Which matters more?Does the failure to actOn an ill intentionAbsolve one from sin?Is a good intention sufficientWhen its consequence goes awry?If we do it for all the wrong reasons,Does it still count?Do the ends ever really justify the means?

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Go On, Jump

Don’t you just hate it when people do this…

A: Hey I really really need your help. Could you help me with this?

B: (thinks to herself):

Oh dear how do I help her with this?I'm already struggling to finish my workAnd I have already agreed to help X with that.But this is not the first time she's asked me for helpAnd I've turned her down.She must think I'm very unhelpful.If only she had asked me a little earlier.Wait, let me think - there must some way I can help her...

B frowns and turns away.

A (thinks to herself):

She is unwilling to help.I’ve seen her help others. Why not me?It must mean she doesn’t like me.This means she only helps those she likes – she’s not a nice person after all!

A: Never mind forget it. (walks away) Bitch…

Sometimes it doesn’t end there…

B: Oh hey remember that favour you asked me for? Yeah, I can do it…

A (thinks to herself):

She’s not a nice person – she only helps those she likes.Why is she offering to help now?Oh I know – she must want something from me.This means she only helps those she likes or those who can help her – she’s REALLY a bitch.If she’s a bitch, I don’t have to feel bad about taking advantage of her.

A: Wah, you’re so nice. Why don’t you help me with this other thing as well? You’re so good at these things.

Friday, January 20, 2006

Goodbye

In the endOur trains arrived at the same timeAnd left almost simultaneously.How serendipitousFor me –No looking back longinglyAt your receding figure on the platformNo peering pensively at your trainFast fading into the darkness.We may yet chance upon each other againAnother day, another platformOur paths may cross once moreAnother lifetimeIt matters notOur time has past.In the endYour train was bound for a new destination.Mine, headed for home

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

What's Yours?

From the Quizilla website:Your Daemon, as in the Philip Pullman series His Dark Materials, is a physical manifestation of part of your soul - it is your intimate companion, and comforter, and it is that little voice inside your head. Its gender is usually the opposite of yours, although some people have a daemon of the same sex. It always takes the form of an animal.My Daemon!

RAVEN - Your daemon may be a member of the crowfamily. You are intelligent, observant, andgregarious. Just as a crow or raven picks shinyobjects out of the dirt, you pick up tidbits ofinformation or ideas and store them away. Youhave a good sense of humour, but sometimes losepatience with people who are antipathic to yournature. You are swift to alert others when youfind the truth, and you have no tolerance forthose who would hide it.

HM's Daemon, hehe!

CAT - your daemon may be a cat if you areindependent and comfort loving. You follow yourheart and do what you want to do - no matterwhat others think. You have a strong sense ofyour own worth, and an inner dignity. You maybe loving and generous in one moment, and thenlash out at someone in the next. You have asmany moods as there are colours in a rainbow,and you wear them all brilliantly. You alwaysknow what you want right now - although in fiveminutes you may change your mind and set yoursights elsewhere. You like to do things withstyle and flair. When someone else orders you to do something, doyou feel an unholy urge to do exactly theopposite? That just might be your inner daemontalking.

Friday, December 23, 2005

Happy Christmas

Monday, December 19, 2005

An Honest Whine

In the words of my vocabulary-challenged students, competition sucks, but collaboration isn’t an option in this case – there can only be one winner – so it seems I must compete. Like any sore loser, I hate competing when I don’t stand a chance of winning. What competition – the odds have been stacked against me from Day 1. Of course, more likely than not, the competition exists only in my mind; I doubt if anyone else involved considers me a contestant, let alone a worthy one. Chances are, I was ruled ineligible from the start anyway, by accident of birth no less (I wave my fist in indignation).

So why can’t I leave well enough alone and walk away into the sunset, like the proverbial hero in cowboy westerns? I have after all lived my life thus far NOT playing by the rules, opting out of the rat race to slave in a bookstore when everyone else was climbing the corporate ladder, quitting the arts scene just when it was becoming an acceptable way to earn a living and kinder to the pocket too, choosing to teach blood-sucking monsters (and loving it!) when others were leaving the scene in droves. Hmmm, so maybe I am perverse. Where logic dictates that I walk away, I walk the other way…

Perhaps I should do what entrepreneurs do and redefine the competition, you know, rise above the situation, rewrite the rules, create demand where there is none. In simple terms, this translates into: Can’t be the boyfriend? Be the chauffeur, the shoulder to cry on, the joker. Can’t be the girlfriend? Be the gift-picker, the stylist, the agony aunt. And, specially for fag hags or fruit flies (terms I use with great affection), can’t be the girlfriend? (Of course not, don’t be silly!) Be the shopping sister, the mahjong kaki, the bitching partner.

With luck, one becomes Apple, only 2.5% of market share worldwide (for personal computers) but the way sexier option. The desired effect one wants to create is the wistful look, the “I wish had the money/opportunity/guts/fill-in-appropriate-factor to choose you” feeling. To achieve this, one must avoid the “spare tire” syndrome at all costs. Unfortunately, in the drive to create demand, one can overcompensate by being too easily available. God forbid one ends up becoming a generic PC, far too easily replaceable by another Sim Lim Square lookalike.

So how does one acquire the allure and mystique of an iBook, an iPOD? If I succeed, I’ll tell you, my readers. Your advice is most welcome in the meantime. Peace out lol.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Incoherence

Some of us think holding on makes us strongbut sometimes it is letting go.- Herman Hesse

Love is never lost.If not reciprocated, it will flow backand soften and purify the heart.– Washington Irving

There is always some madness in love.But there is also always some reason in madness.–Friedrich Nietzsche

Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.– H. L. Mencken

Love is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke.– Lynda Barry

To be brave is to love someone unconditionally,without expecting anything in return. To just give.That takes courage, because we don't want to fallon our faces or leave ourselves open to hurt.– Madonna

On Thin Ice

A 44-year old man and his 9-year old daughter died on an ice-skating trip at a small pond in Cedar Grove, Wisconsin. She fell through the ice and he fell in while trying to rescue her. The snow was falling.

"There is no such thing as safe ice.” – Sheriff’s Deputy Jim Opgenorth

And yet I choose to skateBelieving as Emerson didThat safety is in the speed.Faster and faster I goTill it all becomes a blur.The snow falls -A blanket of prettinessObscures what cautionary signs there are.I wrap myselfIn a cocoon of falsehoodsBlithely ignoring impending doomTill I fall through, with a crash.

Instead

Instead of dreamsI thought ofAll the images I have yet to captureThe coloursThe anglesThe composition.

Today, instead of wantingI thought instead.

Instead of wantsI thought ofAll the books I have yet to readAll the movies I have yet to watchAll the songs I have yet to singAll the stories I have yet to hear, and tellAll the conversations I have yet to haveAll the coffee I have yet to savourAll the walks I have yet to takeAll the landscapes I have yet to lay my eyes onAll the art I have yet to appreciateAll the hugs I have yet to giveAll the smiles I have yet to shareAll the people I have yet to loveAll the breaths I have yet to takeAll the things I have yet to be thankful for

Saturday, November 12, 2005

Conundrum, Conundrums

How does one explain to the naïve thatAll that glitters is not goldThat fair can be foul, and foul fairAnd not every guy on a white horseWears a white suit?

How does one explain to the paranoid thatA gift by definition, is just that, a giftNo strings attachedThat love, whatever the impetus, is still loveAnd that there are some people one can trustNo matter what?

How does one explain to the cynical thatGiving is better than receivingThat choosing to be used is the best way toAvoid being usedAnd not being loved is no reasonNot to love?

How does one explain thatThere are worse things in life to owe than moneyThat people are more than the sum of their functionsAnd denying a relationship exists does not in factObliterate it?

Monday, November 07, 2005

Seeing Things

You will never beWho I want you to beYou aren't even whoYou want yourself to be.Are you a figmentOf my imagination,The product of your fantasies,Or the other way around?If you exist only in our mindsSeparatelyWe're both chasingThe shadow of a dream.

It Takes Two Hands

Like walking on egg shellsWe tiptoed carefullyGingerlyAvoiding the pitfallsIn tacit agreementWarilyPlaying give and takeSuccessfullyTraversing the landscape ofLife and loveFor two hoursIn three monthsWe concurred.The sound of two hands clapping?GratifyingSatisfying.

Friday, October 28, 2005

Bitterness

So bitterThe gall of it allEating away at one’s insidesGnawing away at all that isGood and kind and pureDisfiguring all that is beautifulSickening

Sugar is butTemporary solutionArtificial sweetener isCancer-causingOr shit-inducingHoney isGood butAnt-attractingNothing like love and light to fillEvery crevice,Every nookEvery cranny of the heartSo that there is no space forBitterness

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

What's in a Name

You flatter me,You do.You called me bitch,Didn't you?Well, I'm in good company,I can tell.Gurl, ain't you bitchin' too?LOL, you're one as well!So what's next,Pray tell?Bitch slap fest?That would be likeSo bitchin'!!But it won't be necessaryTo play that lame blame game.I like the name,The moniker,The epithet;You should too.Embrace your inner bitch, gurlPower reclaimed.

I'm a bitch, I'm a loverI'm a child, I'm a motherI'm a sinner, I'm a saintI do not feel ashamedI'm your hell, I'm your dreamI'm nothing in betweenYou know you wouldn't want it any other waySo take me as I am- from "Bitch" by Meredith Brooks